


Alright

by Bofur1



Series: Where Sickness Thrives... [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fainting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Mid-Canon, Pain, Ur Family Feels, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Conceal, don't feel, conceal, don't feel<em>...Bifur couldn't last much longer like this.</em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alright

Bifur tried very determinedly to ignore it: the throb in his head that strung his thoughts and rare words together into a jumble of blah. The soreness that seeped down from the old axe wound and made him wonder if it was somehow bleeding again.

It had started as soon as the bitter cold and rain touched him. Bifur didn't dare to make the slightest squeak about it. It was a familiar pain and would pass eventually. But it didn't. This time, whether due to discomfort or stress or both, it worsened until all he wanted was to have someone hug him and not let go until everything was alright again.

Bifur startled as a hand reached across from another pony. "You alright, laddie?"

It was still a wonder to him that he was called 'laddie' by...Bifur panicked for a moment as the white-haired Dwarf's name refused to surface. Ba... _lin_. Yes, that might be it.

"Laddie?" Balin repeated curiously. Bifur jerked a nod in his direction and rumbled something that was apparently satisfactory, for Balin nodded back and moved on to speak with Thorin.

* * *

_Conceal, don’t feel, conceal, don’t feel_...it played like a mantra in Bifur’s aching head as he laid out his blankets. He felt stiff and shaky and raw with the cold, but he was too fatigued to climb into his bedroll so he curled up on top of it. He wondered hazily if he had a fever but vigorously denied the thought. He simply _couldn’t_ have one—he wouldn’t let it happen. Watching his cousins with unblinking eyes, Bifur reminded himself of his goal. He only partly cared about reaching Erabor; his main role on this Quest was to see to Bofur and Bombur’s safety. No little headache or fever was going to stop him now.

“Okay, now you're creepin’ _me_ out,” an amused voice startled Bifur into a sitting position. Nori was sitting cross-legged nearby, rubbing one of his countless knives against his trousers.

Bifur glared at him, wondering what he meant by his statement.

Nori answered the unasked question. “You're just lyin’ there starin’ at your cousins all stalker-like.” Nori's voice softened just slightly as he asked a few moments later, “Are you _that_ worried about them?”

Bifur sighed softly, lay down again and closed his eyes, but it was only after three changes of the lookout that he finally fell asleep.

* * *

His own shivering woke him up again. Bifur heard his teeth clacking and clenched them, but that only made his head hurt worse. He started to sit up but felt the still weight of an arm slumped over his waist. He glanced down and saw the familiar fingerless mitts of Bofur, causing him to twitch a small smile. His pleasure was short-lived, however, as a wave of nausea turned his stomach.

He needed to vomit, but he didn’t want to wake his cousin. If Bofur knew what was going on he would surely beg Thorin for a day’s halt. No, they couldn’t have that. Therefore Bifur inched his way forward at an agonizing pace. When he was finally free, he leapt to his feet and stumbled toward the bushes so he could be free of his bad meal.

It _hurt_ to vomit and left him hunched and shivering in the foliage, too weak to get up.

“Are you alright, Mr. Bifur?” a timid voice asked.

Bifur glanced over his shoulder and saw little Ori, massaging his palms for warmth. They had put the poor little one on watch?

It may have been bad of Ori to leave his post, but Bifur couldn’t even describe how grateful he was for Ori’s care. He reached out and Ori grasped his arm, helping him to his feet. When Ori asked again if he was well, Bifur patted his stomach and smiled slightly, telling Ori that he felt better.

He didn’t, but at least Ori was reassured.

* * *

He couldn’t last much longer like this. It had been three days of constant storms and constant headaches for Bifur, headaches that literally doubled him over on his pony. Everyone else assumed that it was because of the wind.

Oh, the wind. It slammed into him, flapping his clothing and making the axe sear his skin like it was made of dry ice. Since everyone else was busy trying to keep themselves warm—and upright—Bifur buried his face in his pony’s mane and whimpered his agony to her.

It was Bombur who asked it next: “Bifur, what’s wrong?”

At the sound of his voice, Bifur saw flashes of a sweet, tubby, ginger-haired Dwarfling and wished he knew who he belonged to. Was it that other one with the three dark braids? What a silly hat he wore. But why were they here in the wilderness? Why did his entire body ache? Mahal, why was he seeing two of everything?

He realized the reason just as he went down.

“...coming round, I think.”

“...Bifur, can you hear me?”

“...Please...”

It was the last word that made him open his eyes. He wouldn’t just lie there if someone needed help. Breaths of relief were let out as he stared up at the faces above him. Didn’t he know them from somewhere...?

Jolting as memory returned to him, Bifur reached out and clawed desperately at Bofur, pulling him practically on top of him like a blanket. Bombur he grabbed by a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down next to him. Then he turned on his side and shoved his back against Bombur’s chest while hugging Bofur’s back to his own.

After a few moments the tears came, flying as fast and thick as the rain. Oh, it hurt him so. How it hurt him. Bombur and Bofur both pressed closer against him in the way bread hugs meat on a sandwich. Bombur even went as far as to lift the great loop of his beard and drape it over them, tying them together on the ground.

Bofur wriggled until he was on his other side, facing Bifur. “Ye’re a fool,” he said, his voice clear but shaking. “Ye should’ve told us much sooner, ye prideful sod.”

Bifur was crying in shame now too. He brokenly hiccupped out some kind of apology and waited for more rebukes. Sure enough:

“We need t’ know when ye're in pain. We love ye too much t’ lose ye, Bifur!”

What? Bifur blinked away the blurriness to stare at his cousin. Bofur stared back, also tearful but fierce.

“Don’t look so surprised, Bif’. Ye don’t have t’ keep back what ye’re thinkin’ and feelin’; th’ fact that we don’t know Khuzdûl very well does that too much already. Haven’t ye learned by now that we’re yer guardians just as much as ye’re ours? We all look out fer each other,” Bofur stressed, squeezing Bifur’s fingers between his own. “So don’t hide from us. Please.”

Bifur took a deep breath and shook his head a little, nuzzling their noses together as a promise. Maybe, just maybe, he decided, everything _would_ turn out alright in the end.


End file.
